Obsessed
by Marwana
Summary: What if it was Harry who got the diary at the start of the school year? And what if Tom became obsessed with him instead of wanting to end Harry's life? HP/TR AU after Philosopher's Stone. OOC. Oneshot.


_I'm bored and I can't seem to write a single word for any of my other stories (even though I promised I would post a new chapter for 'Conflict Through Time' in January) ever since Christmas... so yeah, I decided to try my hand at a couple of oneshots until I can..._

_**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter, those rights belong to their respective owners. I do own the spelling and grammar mistakes :P_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

'_Writing in books'  
__**":Parseltongue:"**_

**oOoOoOo  
**  
Harry didn't trust the book – a diary or journal with the name T. M. Riddle on it – as far as he could throw it. Hell he definitely trusted it even less than that!  
He had found it in his pile of books the day after the trip to Diagon Alley and he just knew that the book, Dobby's warning about danger at Hogwarts and the fact that Mister Malfoy had taken one of his books and taunted Mister Weasley with it were linked.  
How could they not?

But still, he couldn't help but open the book every single evening, even though he _did_ contain enough strength of will to force himself to _not _write in it. Sadly enough, he wasn't strong enough to report and hand over the suspicious book to a teacher, the Head Boy or Head Girl or a prefect.

**oOo  
**  
It was a couple of months after he had found the book – around November to be precise – that he wasn't as strongly willed anymore to not write in it. He had opened the book, just like he had every other night since he had found it. But this time something compelled him to see what would happen if he were to write in it.  
So he did.

_'My name is Harry Potter'_  
He had no idea why he wrote it, as it was strange to introduce yourself to a diary. Normally people started to write about their day, or their problems, or they started with the words 'dear diary'. But he had written his name, and he had no idea why he had done so.

The words he had written disappeared into the book, only to be replaced with other words written in a handwriting far more neat than he could ever hope for.  
_'Hello Harry Potter, I'm Tom Riddle.'  
_  
He stared at the line that had appeared on the page before he looked around the room to see if someone was manipulating the book. But no one was there so he turned back to the book a couple of minutes after he was sure that he was alone in the room, only to notice the next line.  
_'How did you come by my diary?'  
_  
Harry wondered if he should answer that question – and how – but his hand had already dipped his quill in the ink and before he knew it he had told Riddle everything he knew and thought about the diary. Including his suspicions.  
Riddle just replied to him that he was nothing more than a mere memory of a person long gone and thus nothing to be suspicious about.  
Harry didn't believe him, but it didn't stop him from writing to the other – possibly older – boy.

He wrote down everything that had happened to him so far. He had told him about the death of his parents and about how Voldemort had just… vanished after he had tried to kill him when he was just a little over a year old. He had told him about the Dursleys and how they had hated him and his magic, how they had called him 'freak' and 'boy', how he hadn't known his own name until he was five years old and went to school for the first time, how they used to treat him and how they still treated him.  
He also told him about his adventures in Hogwarts, the teachers, the lessons, Gryffindor, Quidditch and his friends.  
All in all, he opened his heart to the other and it made him both feel better and gave him a sense of ever growing dread.

Riddle – _Tom_– in return told him about how he had been treated in the orphanage, his hatred for his father, the other children in the orphanage and muggles in general, the Second World War and what it was like to be in the middle of said War. He told him about how he remembered Hogwarts, his own House – Slytherin – and how he was treated there and the teachers as he remembered them.

But Harry's sense of dread never seized to grow.

**oOo  
**  
It was almost a month later – at the end of November – that he started to notice that he was blacking out at random intervals. His dread had intensified until he was paranoid and his friends had started to worry about him because of his jumpiness, the dark rings around his eyes, the fact that he was always tired and the paleness of his skin. They had dragged him to the Hospital Wing three times already but the Pepper-Up potion Madam Pomfrey handed him every time didn't help him at all.

It was the third time after he had blacked out for a longer period of time that he started to truly panic.  
The front of his robe and scarf contained some rooster feathers and speckles of blood were slightly visible as dark spots on his black robes. Besides that, everyone around him was panicking because Filch's cat – Mrs. Norris – was somehow petrified and a message had appeared on the wall on the second floor near the haunted bathroom which told them all that Slytherins' Chamber of Secrets had been opened.

Harry wrote to Tom to ask him if he knew what had happened – and what was happening to him – but Tom comforted him and told him not to worry.

But Harry worried and he started to mistrust the book. His willpower started to return and he wrote less and less in the book until one day, the book was just gone.

The attacks still continued – which made Harry feel better as it meant that _he_wasn't the one behind them – but he missed Tom a lot. He had started to trust the other boy and he missed the fact that he could tell him everything he couldn't tell his friends – like the fact that he hated how everyone had turned against him when he had told the snake to stop during night of the Duelling Club.

But it didn't matter, because he had also started to feel better, happier and less tired and his sense of dread had slowly disappeared. It only convinced him that the book truly was dangerous.

**oOoOoOo  
**  
They stared at each other, seeing the hopelessness and determination in each other's eyes. The closet – the one in the teachers' lounge they had snuck into when the students were ordered to go to their Common Room – became suddenly far too small to sit in and the world spun around him. Ginny had been taken. Ginny had been taken by the monster to die in the Chamber of Secrets. Ron's little sister had been taken. His _best friend's_ little sister was about to die.  
Suddenly the world stopped spinning and he felt very calm.  
They would save her. Somehow, _someway_, they would make sure she was alright.

Hermione – even though she had been petrified – had still managed to help them by having a small piece of paper in her hand which had told them what the monster was and Harry had the feeling that he knew where the entrance was.  
All that they had to do now was convince Lockhart – the professor who had boasted that he knew where the entrance was – to come with them. Even if the man was completely useless he could still shield them from the basilisk.

They waited until the teachers left the lounge before they made their way out of the closet and out of the lounge. Ron was trembling in both fear and anger but Harry just felt very calm. He knew that he could die down there, but he would do anything to save his best friend's little sister.

They were silent when they walked – more like ran – towards the DADA classroom, both lost in their own dark thoughts and the silent was even more oppressing when they made their way over to the haunted bathroom on the second floor, a stammering, begging and noisy Lockhart at their wandpoint.

"Myrtle!," Harry called as soon as they entered the bathroom, "Myrtle, can you tell me how you died?"  
The ghost appeared soon after, happy and smiling for the first time since he had known her.

It was just after he had started to get black outs that he had hid in her bathroom to try and find out why he had those black outs. It had been the most convenient spot at the time as no one ever dared to enter the bathroom. Harry hadn't understood why until Myrtle had shown up and asked him what he was doing in a _girls'_ bathroom of all places. He had been surprised to see her –as he hadn't known that _she_ was the reason no one wanted to enter the bathroom – but in the end he had told her about the black outs and how he had started to feel weaker and more tired.  
She had just looked at him before she mentioned that he was always welcome to come and talk to her. He had thanked her and, before he left, he had promised that he would try to visit her at least once a week. And he had kept his promise.  
After the Dueling Club Disaster in which he had spoken to the snake her bathroom had been the one place where no one would judge him. Of course, the fact that she didn't judge him either helped a lot.

"Oh, it was terrifying!" she exclaimed dramatically, "I was crying here, in the bathroom, after Olive Hornby and her friends had been picking on me about my glasses when I heard a boy speak up. It was a very strange language he spoke and I made my way out of the cubicle in which I had hidden myself to tell him that this was a _girls'_ bathroom. And that was when I saw them: two large, yellow eyes. That was how I died."  
She finished her tale with a shrug and a giggle.  
"Y-yellow eyes?" Lockhart stuttered softly and he backed away but Ron forced him back towards the spot he had been forced to stand.

"Where did you see those eyes?" Harry asked her curious.  
Myrtle turned towards the big sink in the middle of the bathroom and floated just above it, "right here."  
Harry made his way over to the sink and searched it quite thoroughly until he found a small snake on one of the faucets.  
"I wonder," he muttered softly before he hissed, _**":Open.:"**_  
Ron, Lockhart and even Myrtle jumped slightly at the use of the language and the fact that the sink sank into the ground to show a large opening downwards before Myrtle exclaimed, "that's the same language the other boy spoke! Though I can't remember seeing a hole that big…"

Harry slowly made his way towards the big gaping hole and carefully leaned forwards to look inside. Ron and Lockhart – the later forced – took a couple of steps forward to stand beside him.  
"Well, now that you've found the entrance you don't need me anymore!" Lockhart stated cheerfully, though his voice wavered and broke, before he tried to turn around and dash away.  
"Oh no," Harry stated almost morbidly amused, "the last time I checked it was the task of a teacher to protect the students."  
Lockhart stared at him incomprehensibly, "Wha-?"  
"Do warn us if something dangerous is down there, would you?" Harry said before he stepped back slightly and jabbed the tip of his wand into the man's neck, right on the spot he knew hurt the most – he had found that out when Dudley had tried it out on him. The man stumbled forward in an attempt to get away from the wand and in doing so stood dangerously close to the edge of the hole.  
"Now boys," he managed to gasp as he watched the hole fearfully, "is this really necessary?"  
Harry and Ron shared a look before they both pushed him into the hole.

The man's screams – ridiculously girly sounding – could be heard for a couple of seconds before a dull thud was heard and it became silent.  
"You think he has fallen to his death?" Ron whispered fearfully.  
"Doubt it," Harry snorted, "this is the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets after all. Slytherin couldn't have his heirs dying, now could he?"  
"I could check it for you?" Myrtle offered as she appeared next to them.  
"That would be nice, Myrtle," Harry said grateful, "thank you."  
Myrtle nodded at him and dove down. Her shrieks of laughter coming back to them.

"She is completely nuts, she is," Ron muttered, "how do you know her? And who _is_ she anyway?"  
"Doesn't matter," Harry told him, "she is a victim from the last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened and she is known as 'Moaning Myrtle'."  
Ron opened his mouth to ask another question or to comment on something he had said but Myrtle popped up next to them again.

"The slide down is safe," she said, a silvery flush on her translucent face, "and the man you pushed down is alive as well!"  
"Good to know," Harry said sardonically, "well, here goes nothing!"  
And he made his way over towards the edge.  
"Oh Harry!" Myrtle said, "if you die down here you are more than welcome to share my bathroom with me! Think of all the people we could scare, haunt and annoy!"  
"Thanks Myrtle," Harry said amused before he jumped down.

**oOo  
**  
Harry made his way forwards, away from the rumble of the collapsed ceiling.  
The sounds of the scraping of stones on stones became softer and softer the farther away he moved until they couldn't be heard anymore. He continued to walk until he came upon a large vault-like door decorated with snakes.  
A soft hissed, _**":open.:"**_made the snake closest to the border of the door move and slowly the door opened.

Harry drew his wand and carefully climbed through the hole that had appeared only to stop and gape as he fully entered the large hall.  
It was dark, dreary and dirty but it was still clear that the hall used to be impressive. Large statues of snakes – chipped and missing pieces but still grand – stood against the wall, even larger pillars – still whole but dirty – made it so the ceiling wouldn't collapse on top of him and a pathway from the entrance to the other edge of the hall led to a gigantic stone head. Pools filled with glowing water were between the snake statues and the main path and smaller paths led from the main paths towards each of the statues only to disappear in the shadow.

His eyes lowered towards the small figure beneath the large stone head and with a shout of "Ginny!" he quickly ran towards her. He dropped down on his knees next to her and his wand was quickly abandoned next to him as both his hands fluttered around and on her to see if she was still alive – she was – and to see why she was so cold and didn't move.  
"Wake up, Ginny!" he exclaimed and he carefully shook her shoulders. But her head just flopped from side to side and she didn't wake up.

"She won't wake up love," a smooth voice sounded from just behind him and he immediately scrambled back on his feet and whirled around as quickly as he could.  
Before him stood a boy dressed in an old fashioned Slytherin uniform. His hair was a dark brown and neatly combed, his eyes were an even darker brown – almost black - and unreadable and his face was aristocratic. Harry estimated him to be around sixteen years old.

He almost back tracked when he noticed that the wand he had just dropped on the floor was now in the hand of the stranger – who seemed oddly translucent – and he was twirling it graceful.  
"Who are you?" Harry demanded, "and why are you here? What is wrong with Ginny?"  
"Don't you recognize me?" the boy in front of him cooed as he stopped twirling the wand and placed it in the pocket of his pants, "I'm truly hurt my love."

Harry stared at him warily, "stop calling me that!"  
"What 'love'?" the other asked amused, "but it's nothing more that the truth. After all, you are the only one who is similar to me, the only one who can wish to understand me. And I'm the only one who can understand you, the only one who can even begin to understand the things you've gone through. We even look similar!"

Harry blinked at those last words. They were almost nothing alike. Where the boy had neat dark brown hair, Harry had wild, messy even darker hair that went whatever way it wanted to go. Harry had luminous green eyes that showed his every emotion while the Slytherin had dark, unreadable eyes. The other boy was tall and nicely filled out with the build of a runner while Harry was short and scrawny looking. And even their Houses were different.

"We are nothing alike," Harry deadpanned.  
"O but we are love," the Slytherin purred, "and that's one of the many reasons I love you."  
"But I'm 12!" Harry managed to sputter, "and a boy!"  
The other boy laughed, "the age difference between us isn't that large. And love, like magic, is just a higher power. There is no good love or bad love. There is just love!"

Harry stepped back warily, careful to not step on Ginny.  
"Now unto other topics," the other grew serious as he gracefully followed Harry, always staying a couple of steps away – but not enough steps that Harry could dash away to the other side of the Chamber, "how is it that you managed to survive the killing curse?"  
"What is it to you?" Harry asked as he stopped a couple of steps near the statue of the stone head, "it's – _Voldemort_ is – well after your time."  
"You told me about it," the Slytherin – _Tom_ – told him amused, "and I admit that I'm intrigued about the how. And it _is_important to me. You see, Voldemort is my past, my present and my very future."

Harry tried to back away again but the other – _Voldemort_ – followed him until he was cornered against the stone head. Only then did the boy in front of him stop, once again a few steps away from him.  
Harry watched frozen as he drew _his_ wand from his pocket and wrote quickly _'Tom Marvolo Riddle'_ in the air in fiery red letters before he flicked the wand and the words rearranged themselves until _'I am Lord Voldemort'_ appeared.  
"So you see," he told him calmly as he pocketed the wand again, the fiery letters still glowing brightly between them, "it does matter to me."

Harry glared at him but remained silent.  
"I admit that I used to be obsessed with killing you," Voldemort continued as he lifted his hand – the one without the wand and studied it curiously, "after all you defeated my future self. But then you started to tell me more about yourself and I started to notice that we are quite _similar_. We both lost our parents, we are both orphans and Dumbledore hurt us both – by placing you with the Muggles and by acting like I'm pure evil even though I was just an eleven year old child. But that's not all. We are both Parselmouths, we both know what suffering is at the hands of others and we both are capable of hatred."  
He stepped closer to him and Harry pressed himself as close to the stone behind him as he could.

"But now," Voldemort said with an amused smirk, "well, everyone needs someone to love. And you seem to be the one for me!"  
"Never!" Harry exclaimed angrily, "I'll never love you! You killed my parents and _you_ are the reason I grew up with _them_ in the first place!"  
"Never say never," the boy in front of him said silkily, "and no. My _future_ self killed your parents, yes. But it was _Dumbledore_ who placed you with the Muggles, not I!"  
"It doesn't matter," Harry spat as he glared at him, "you are still a murderer and I _hate_you!"

"Hm, pity," Voldemort muttered as he drew the wand and pointed it at Harry, "but that will have to change. _Dormus_!"  
Harry froze as the wand – _his_wand – was pointed at him and the light blue spell made its way over towards him with a speed he couldn't outrun – not that he would have been able to run as he was still stuck between the stone statue behind and around him and Voldemort in front of him.

The last thing he noticed before everything turned black was the soft smile on Voldemort's face.

**oOoOoOo  
**  
He woke up in stages as he fell in and out of consciousness. One by one did his senses return to him and every time he woke up a bit more was added to what he would notice from around him.  
Time had no meaning to him and it could have been hours, days, weeks or even months before another sense started to work the way it should work again.

The first thing that returned to him was his sense of 'self'. He knew who he was, he knew that he was unhurt, he felt no pain but he felt weak and stiff and his mind was sluggish and slow. It was as if he had spent a very long time asleep.

The second and third thing that returned to him were his sense of smell and taste. He smelled the fire that seemed to burn near him, he smelled and could taste the liquid food that was gently poured inside his mouth, he could smell the smell of flowers and trees and he could smell a musky, dry scent that smelled like dark chocolate combined with wine.

The next thing that returned was his sense of feeling. He felt the soft, heavy blankets against his skin and the soft but solid bed underneath him. He could feel the fact that he was almost completely bare except for a pair of soft pyjama bottoms. And he could feel the pair of arms and the solid, almost bare body behind him that appeared sometimes, only to disappear again a couple of hours? days? minutes? later. He could feel the soft hand that massaged his throat after he was fed the liquid, he could feel the hand that carded through his hair and he could feel the soft kisses that were pressed against his scar, his bare shoulders and his neck.  
He also felt it when he was gently removed from the bed, undressed and lowered in warm water only to be placed on a hard but warm and moving surface and held and washed by a pair of gentle but firm hands.

The fifth thing that returned to him was his hearing. He could hear the fire that he had previously smelled, he could hear the birds outside, he could hear the sound of someone entering the room and softly calling his name, he could hear the rustling of the covers as they were moved and he could hear the clattering of water and the rustling of cloths as he was gently taken from the bed for another bath. He could also hear the sound of voices and the rustling of paper and the scrapping of a quill. It seemed that whoever he shared the room – and the bed, which was scary – with him almost never left him alone.

The last thing that returned to him was his sight. And that took a long while as he had felt too weak to open his eyes for some time since he had first woken up. And even after that he could only open them for a short period of time, either because the light hurt them or because he was too tired and felt too weak to keep them open for a long period of time.

**oOo  
**  
When he finally regained full consciousness it was to the darkness of the room he stayed in, a hard body pressed against his back, a warm and solid arm around his waist, a hand that carded leisurely through his hair and soft kisses that were pressed against the back of his bare neck and shoulders.  
He squirmed slightly against the tight hold and the tickling of the kisses and the hand in his hair paused for a couple of seconds before it continued its petting.

"Good evening my love," a smooth, sibilant and _very_ familiar voice said murmured softly in his ear.  
Harry began to struggle weakly almost immediately against the hold, only to stop after a very short while as he was still too weak to do more than squirm. A soft hushing sound came from behind him as he panted for air and relaxed back into the hold.  
"Easy, love," the voice murmured, "you are still very weak and I would hate it to see you hurt!"  
"Let me go!" Harry exclaimed, but it came out as a weak and soft whimper.  
"I don't think I will," the person behind him said softly as another kiss was pressed against his shoulder, "or don't you want to hear about your friends and their fate?"  
"Hermione? Ron?" Harry whispered – as his voice couldn't seem to be louder than a whisper, "I just saw them a couple of hours ago… What did you do?"

A soft sigh was heard and the arm around his waist tightened, "it has been more than seven years since you last saw them. You have been asleep since that night in the Chamber."  
Harry stiffened in shock and he started to squirm again.  
"Calm down dear," the voice whispered soothingly as another kiss was planted against his neck, "your muscles are still too weak! Please don't harm yourself."  
Harry relaxed as his mind tried to comprehend what had been said, "s-seven years?"  
"Yes, it was the time I needed to show the Wizarding World my ideas were the ones they should follow," the man behind him told him, "and to rebuilt it. I cancelled the spell I had placed on you all those years ago two weeks ago and I've been waiting eagerly ever since for you to wake up."

"My friends?" Harry whispered, his mind reeling and his hopes dashed.  
"Hermione Weasley-Granger, married to one Ronald Weasley," Voldemort told him matter-of-factly, "Head of the Department of Welfare of Children. Mother to two children. Ronald Weasley, husband to Hermione Weasley-Granger, ex-auror, now a devoted father and house-man."  
Harry sighed in relief, "and the other Weasleys? And the rest of my friends?"  
"Molly and Arthur Weasley are still alive and take care of their many grandchildren. William Weasley married one Fleur Weasley-Delacour a – according to many men – beautiful witch who happens to be a quarter Veela. Charles Weasley resides in Romania and still works with his dragons, he has a relationship with a Romanian woman. The last time I checked he was head of something over there. Percival Weasley is an assistant to one of the undersecretaries and is married to his school-sweetheart. And last but not least the twins have opened their own prank shop which is quite popular. Both are still single."

"And Ginny?" Harry asked even though a feeling of dread had entered him.  
Another sigh was heard, "she died to give me life."  
Harry sobbed softly as the tears started to stream from his eyes.  
Voldemort cooed softly from behind him, "shh love, don't you want to hear about the rest of your friends? Or what happened to the rest of the Wizarding World?"  
Harry continued to sob softly and he didn't react.

"All your friends are still alive and safe, even the teachers," Voldemort cooed softly, "they have all nice jobs and are either happily married, are in a relationship or are happy to be single for the time being… or searching for a partner and failing to find the right one."

"There are a couple of new laws," Voldemort continued as he started to rock him in his arms when it became clear that he wasn't about to stop sobbing, "some of them make sure that the creatures can get jobs, just like the rest of the wizards, and that they are allowed to use wands. They are now nearly equal to the wizards and witches. Children – all wizarding children, including muggleborns – are to be send to a wizarding primary school where they are taught the basics about our world and the normal things one learns in a primary school. Muggleborns and their parents are contacted the moment they are found and the parents – if the children are allowed to stay with them – are forced to give an oath that they would never harm their child and that they would keep our world a secret. There are also magical orphanages to make sure that what happened to you will never happen to another child and muggleborns are taken away from their parents when it is noticed that they've mistreated their child."

"Hogwarts?" Harry asked in a small voice as he sniffed softly.  
"Still stands," Voldemort murmured as he cuddled him closer, "and it is still a school and the same subjects are still taught. There are just a couple of extra subjects one can choose from and a couple of subjects which were optional are now mandatory."

"But enough of that," the man told him softly as he pressed another kiss against his bare shoulder, "you need to rest. But before that: you are over seventeen now, the age one starts to court or one is to be courted. Will you let me court you?"  
A finger was pressed against his mouth before he could react.  
"I will let you meet with your friends in the morning," he continued, "I've asked them to tell you everything about the last seven years and they will swear a magical oath before they do that everything they tell you is the absolute truth. You can decide after you have heard everything."

**oOo  
**  
It was a couple of weeks after their conversation and he had only seen Voldemort at night when they shared a bed – which was still as creepy as Hell as the man insisted on cuddling him close.

Hermione and Ron had visited him the day after the conversation and they had told him everything after swearing an oath to tell nothing but the complete truth. One of the things they told him was how Voldemort had gone via the political way just to make sure that the least amount of people died.

Apparently he had used an old teacher by the name of 'Horace Slughorn' to enter the Ministry of Magic, after which he had started to inform people of the problems the Wizarding World was having – like the creatures that were about to rebel, the muggleborns which left the Wizarding World as soon as they had gotten their NEWTS because of the lack of jobs, the fact that children were treated worse than House elves and a couple of other issues.  
People hadn't believed him but after a couple of examples – like vampires and werewolves who had started to attack on his command and abused children that had been brought in by aurors – people had started to believe him and he had been named minister.  
The first thing he had done was to check every single law – with the help of a large team that consisted of both muggleborns, half-bloods, purebloods and creatures – and to make new ones that were more fair and protected every citizen of the Wizarding World.

After they had left he had been visited by the rest of the Gryffindor House and some of the teachers who had – after swearing the same oath – told him the exact same story.

After hearing the same story again and again from different sources Harry had to admit that he didn't truly know the man and – after many conversations with both Hermione, Ron and strangely enough Neville – he had decided to allow the man to court him.

All he had to do now, was to tell Voldemort of his decision.

**oOoOoOo  
**  
**5 Years later.  
**  
Harry stretched lazily as he slowly opened his eyes and blinked sleepily at the brightness around him.  
The arms around him tightened and a soft kiss was placed against the back of his head.  
"Good morning my love," his husband of two years murmured softly, "ready for you NEWT's?"  
"As ready as I'll ever be," he answered as he turned around in his arms and pressed a kiss against the other man's mouth.

Voldemort hadn't changed much over the years and still looked quite similar to the way he had looked when Harry had first met him in the Chamber of Secrets, just slightly older.  
He himself, though, had changed quite a bit. When he had woken up after he had been asleep for seven years he had been too weak and far too light to be healthy – to the point of anorexic. And, while he had been taller than he used to be, he had also been too small and too pale for one his age and he lacked the necessary muscle to do more than lay around and let Voldemort help him with his studies.  
Luckily, with the help of some particularly disgusting potions, that had changed quickly. It had taken him a year before he had been as fit as he had been before Voldemort had spelled him asleep, but after that he had finally been able to train and grow until he had been as tall and healthy as he could be.

"I'm sure you'll do just fine," Voldemort murmured as he pressed a soft kiss against his lips, an amused twinkle in his eyes, "after all, I taught you!"  
Harry snorted as he tried to move away but Voldemort pressed his lips against his again before he said, "I know that your NEWT's start in about five hours. How about I distract you so you won't panic like you did with your OWL's?"

Harry managed to bark out a laugh before his lips were once again occupied and he rolled willingly with the other man until he lay on his back with his husband on top of him.

Yes, life was good.

* * *

_I hope you guys liked this story/ one-shot._

_Please leave a review and tell me if you liked it... or something along those lines ^^_

_~Marwana_


End file.
